Things Best Left Unsaid
by Kitsune Heart
Summary: My interpretation of a certain much-anticipated event in "The Atlantis Complex." Sometimes, the last thing we should do is say what we want to say. IMPORTANT: Includes prompt for a short story competition. Prize includes podfic-ication of the winner!
1. In Bad Company

**This story was written before the publication of _The Atlantis Complex_, and was my prediction of how the book would go. I proved phenomenally wrong. In addition, it was the prompt for "The Big Reveal Contest,"which asked writers to submit their versions of Artemis's "embarrassing professions of love." Winners will be announced on September 1st, and recorded as podfics, to be available at the Audiofic website.

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**Things Best Left Unsaid**

**Chapter 1: Bad Company**

"Really, I like Atlantis."

Holly tightened her grip on the submarine controls. She had never been as skilled with submersibles as with aircraft, and nicking the docking bay would be poor form, even if the double hull would keep everyone in the craft from being crushed by the oceanic pressure.

"All that water. Brings back some nice memories. You went to Atlantis University, correct, Ms. Koboi?"

"Yes. I loved it. I wanted to open my first manufacturing plant here, but the building restrictions were intolerable." The petite former pixie kicked her feet, flexing her bare toes as she reveled in her extra modicum of freedom. Her wrists and ankles had been secured to her chair by thick magnetic bonds, and her eyes were shielded by a band of reflective metal that looked like sunglasses from a sci-fi movie (in the off chance she summoned enough magic to perform a _mesmer_ on the other sub occupants), but she considered the change of scenery from her isolation pod in the depths of the ocean to be worth the physical restraints. At least for now.

"And you, Mr. Root? From whence did you matriculate?" She let the last word pop on each syllable, ending with a full-lipped smile that showed how she savored the complicated sounds.

Turnball Root sighed, swinging his head back to bring some grey hair out of his eyes, unable to do so with his hands, courtesy of similar bonds. "Just Haven College, I'm afraid. Mum and Da didn't have nearly enough money for Atlantis, what with my new baby brother to think of."

"So sad, really," Opal crooned, flirting shamelessly with the magic-less elf. "And him being such a poor investment, what with the short career."

A second later, all of the sub occupants winced as a long shriek filled the cabin, their seats vibrating as Holly scraped along the docking bay for a third of the sub's length. The only one with hands free—Artemis Fowl—covered his ears and whimpered, rocking in his seat. He was counting up in powers of five, and was somewhere around twenty digits, with no signs of stopping. His eyes locked on the digital readouts, cringing whenever a four popped up.

Holly did not bother to apologize as the screeching ended, though the convicts gave her sour looks. Docking procedures were already under way, and a moment later control of the vessel was transferred to the Atlantis marines, who made a flawless connection to the cabin, all while muttering over the radio about the crazy girlie captain's interesting piloting style.

Breathing out slowly to get her temper back in control, Holly snapped off her seat-belt and stood, crossing to Artemis's chair. She crouched in front of him, frowning when he did not respond to her presence. Normally, she would have been able to look into his eyes by standing as he sat, but the genius was hunched, eyes darting along the tiled floor, cursing its squareness and penchant to fours.

"Artemis, will you listen, please?" Holly whispered, reaching out to brush the hair from his eyes. She lay the back of her hand along his forehead, checking his temperature. He felt cool, but humans were generally cooler than fairies, so he could very well be running a fever even as she thought he felt quite normal. "Are you fine to walk?"

"Step on a vine, count to nine," he muttered, fingers twitching as he counted words. "But twenty's best!"

"There are no vines, Artemis," Holly said deliberately, portioning her words to reach five, just as Artemis did. It seemed to calm him, even though it taxed her to focus on the count when she should have been focused on the debriefing to come. "We're going to LEP headquarters. I need you to help me by walking, okay, Artemis?" Whenever she talked like this, she inevitable said his name every other sentence, and was forced to add in a lot of words Artemis would have once rolled his eyes at, like "okay" and "alright." He didn't seem to be complaining now, though.

Artemis's every move was jerky. He matched his eyes to Holly's, pupils shaking minutely as they flickered their focus, taking in her every facial feature. "I...you...we're not dead?"

"Of course we're alive, Artemis," she whispered, taking the initiative to unbuckle the seat-belt. When the straps flitted away, she tugged Artemis's hand, pulling him from the seat.

"But there are f-four of us. Four is..._very_ bad."

"It's just a number, Artemis." Holly twined her fingers with Artemis's, guiding him from the cockpit to the door, which hissed as the Atlantis crew equalized their pressure against the city's.

"Don't let the number gods hear you," Artemis breathed, stumbling over a bump on the floor, which he could have easily avoided in a more cognizant moment. He was running into a lot of things, lately, unable to take his focus off his elven savior. It was imperative that she never leave his sight. She could bring him back to life. Far more than _Butler_, the cursed man, could do, even if Butler's presence would have brought the sub's roster up to five. Five was so beautiful. "They'll be angry." There. Ten words. A multiple of five. Five was perfect.

Artemis knew the look that flashed across Holly's face was annoyance for his mentioning of numerical deities, but he could not care too much. Especially when it was gone in a heartbeat, replaced by a small smile that, while pitying, was heartfelt. "Then do some more math to appease them."

Artemis frowned. "What sort of math, Holly?"

Briefly, she looked blank, searching her college memories for any sort of formula that could occupy her friend. She finally seemed to remember something as they came to the shuttle door, and she beamed. "Digits of pi." She paused, then resembled the quintuplet rule. "Sound good?" She put her hand to the omnisensor at the door, trying to keep in a blush as Artemis clutched at her available hand all the tighter. It was painful to see her intelligent friend so discomposed, and very confusing. Even the stalwart Butler had been shunned, but she was still desperately needed. She couldn't turn him away.

"Hmmm." Artemis said, considering. Then he looked troubled, and Holly realized he was trying to decide if onomatopoeia counted as words.

Leaving him to his pondering, Holly crossed to the panel next to the prisoners, where she began to type in the ridiculously complicated password. They weren't taking any risks with these two. Removing them from their isolation pods was bad enough, but leaving them would have made it impossible to determine which was behind the plot of the week.

"Three point one four one five nine two six five three five eight nine..."

Soon, with a paired "ka-thunk," the magnetic wrist and ankle restraints released from the chairs, though the spheres remained around Koboi and Root's wrists. As Holly held her neutrino at the ready, she had first Turnball and then Opal stand, directing them to bring their hands behind their backs, where they snapped together again. Their ankles had a similar setting that would go off if their legs moved too quickly (such as with running or kicking), they broke the distance parameters, or the captain triggered them for whatever reason she deemed fit, effectively hobbling them.

"Between ten and fifteen feet from me, convicts. Am I clear?"

"Six six nine two three four six oh three four eight six..."

"Yes, Miss Short," Turnball sighed, tapping his foot. "May we go, now? This sub stinks of Mud Man." He looked to Opal and winked slowly. "No offense, my lady. Your scent is quite pleasant."

"You are such a shameless liar, Mr. Root. I haven't had access to anything but filtered sea water for days. But I thank you." She bent her knees in a curtsy, which was met with a bow.

Holly groaned. Opal flirting was a very disturbing sight. "All right. Let's go."

Artemis looked up, biting his lip, computations forgotten.

"_Please_," Holly amended. She placed a hand on the small of Artemis's back ("Eight nine two five nine oh three six oh..."), about as high as she could comfortably reach. Pushing him, she guided the group through the tunnel to Atlantis.

The elf she saw on the other end was expected, but she still felt her heart lighten at the sight of his crooked nose and rust-colored crew cut.

The relief he felt seemed to match hers, and Trouble did not bother hiding it, jogging forward to reach her, wrapping her up in a crushing hug. "Gods. You're alright. I really thought those two would mutiny." He held her out at arm's length, inspecting her quickly. Then, blushing and with a small, would-be-distracting cough, he brushed off the captain's lapels and stood back, going to an at-ease position.

"I'm fine, Trouble. Commander." Holly amended, then had to speak again, noticing Artemis's wide eyes. "Fine."

"And how did it go?"

Holly scowled at the casual wording, but then her peripheral vision caught the twitch of the commander's fingers. He was counting words. So he _had_received Foaly's message about the Atlantis Complex. "The prisoners haven't given us a bit of trouble, except for being sort of creepy."

Trouble narrowed his eyes at Turnball, having fully expected psychological warfare from his old enemy. "Good to hear. And Fowl?"

"I am quite well, Commander." He sniffed, trying to seem insulted by the inquiry, but the effect was hampered by the whisper of "nine eight three three six seven three three six..." escaping his barely parted lips, so quiet only the two closest fairies could hear.

Trouble watched Artemis for a beat, then sighed, returning his attention to Holly. "Sorry, Hols. I guess Reynard's is off for tonight, then?"

At first, Holly slouched, but she also nodded, blowing some of the new fringe away from her eyes. "MREs by computer screen again."

"I can try to reschedule..."

"Don't worry, Trouble. It's fine." Holly tried to put on a brave smile. She'd been excited for her evening after work, and then Artemis sent over that damned invite...

Trouble interrupted her sullen thoughts by leaning over and catching Holly in a soft kiss that was as chaste as he could manage, due to the crowd that surrounded them.

Holly felt like she was in a movie. Or watching one. For a moment, she was outside of herself, observing as her lover tried to comfort her with the soft caress of lips. Then, in slow motion, they parted, and she looked through to see the face of Artemis Fowl, his mouth open, gods-appeasing numbers forgotten. His gaze snapped between the two elves, trying to process what he had just seen, but the confusion still on his face showed that he was unable to do so.

Holly could also see him from the corner of her eyes, and did everything she could to not focus on him directly. Not yet. Not now.

Trouble stood straight, jerking his chin at Koboi and Root. "I'll go ahead, to clear the way. If they try anything, you hear-by have my permission to kick some ass."

Holly nodded and waved her lover off, wondering if she should feel more or less tense as the man retreated. Artemis stood at her side, silent, and she swallowed as they were left (relatively) alone.

When he didn't move or speak, she reached out for his hand. "Artemis? Are you all right?" She knew this moment would be a shock, either way. Holly had wanted to tell him in private, but there had only been running and the two murderers behind her, lately. She hoped touch would remove the freeze on his limbs. Her fingertips brushed against his.

With a yelp, Artemis jerked his hand away. "Yes, Captain! I'm perfectly fine." He begin to go after Trouble, steps jerking, fists clenched at his side. He was no longer muttering numbers, and Holly was unsure if this was a good or a bad thing.

She began to follow him, her prisoners trailing along behind like evil ducklings, shooting each-other crooked-lipped looks.

"Artemis, please, slow down! Are you sure you're all right?"

"All right?"

Artemis stopped so fast Holly was forced to back pedal, lest she run into him.

He wheeled about, eyes wide and feverish. "_All right? _No, I am_ not _'all right!' Even an _idiot_ can see that I am as far from 'all right' as humanly possible. I have some sort of fairy OCD, I may have bankrupted my family, Butler is irate with me, I was nearly burned alive, I saw fifteen fairies turned to so much carbon, one of these two psychos is at fault, I'm not sure which it is, I've already forgotten how many words I've just said, the number gods are _pissed_, my suit is _ruined_, the whole world is going to be destroyed by pollution, you are involved with that _moron_, and I am in love with you, Holly! So, no, I am _not_ 'all right!'"

Before Holly could even squeak a response, Artemis stormed down the hall, turning a corner and going out of sight.

It was not that Holly made a noise, the sound perhaps intelligible to dolphins or bats, but not so much for elves. Behind her, she could feel a pair of eyes sizing her up, analyzing the situation, and computing the best path to use to take advantage of what had just been said. She was about to turn and threaten the owners of those eyes when a head popped back around the corner, making Holly yelp and step away.

Artemis cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair to remove it from his eyes. "Please ignore that last part." Then he was gone, leaving the fairies alone again.

"Well," Turnball murmured, voice milk-chocolate-smooth. "This _is_ an interesting revelation. Wouldn't you say so, Miss Koboi?"

"Yes," Opal purred, her tones honeyed to match Root's sweetness. "I can hardly contain myself. Quite...intriguing."

Gloves cracking as she clenched her fists, Holly walked down the hall without a word to her prisoners. They followed while continuing to chatter, prodding at her defenses, but Holly did not break.


	2. Infection

**Chapter 2: Infection**

Holly was sort of used to being out of the loop during her adventures, by now. She trusted Artemis had a handle on events, knowing that a situation careening from "bad" to "apocalypse" was merely part of his masterfully constructed, infinitely complex plan. It was sort of comforting, actually, except for the thought that those plans could include a sacrifice she would not be willing to make if given the time for more than a moment's consideration. Of course, since Artemis never gave her more than a moment, it was almost a moot point.

Trouble Kelp, however, wasn't used to being so accepting of things. And this? This looked pretty bad to him.

If Artemis had a plan, he wasn't telling it to anyone, least of all the portion of his mind that remained firmly sane (if said portion still existed). He had insisted upon conducting interviews with Turnball and Opal, and that had opened up a whole list of concerns for the small circle of upper-echelon LEP and Council members that were aware of the situation. For one, the interviews had to be conducted in a location free of all electronic devices. Opal Koboi was a hacker supreme, and Foaly didn't trust her around anything so complicated as a wristwatch.

An analog wristwatch.

Turnball wasn't nearly as gifted, but he was far more dangerous, physically. He was once a captain in Recon, after all, and had all the training of Short and Kelp, plus several hundred years to perfect it. Neither of his captors had any illusions about being able to beat him easily in a fight. He looked old, but old men were always the most dangerous people in kung fu movies. Old men...and little girls.

Trouble was doing his best to never leave Holly alone with Turnball, knowing the elf's twisted nature all too well. Opal would always have big, world-destroying plans, but Turnball was all the more dangerous for being short-sighted. Throwing a wrench into a few gears would ruin a Koboi plot, but it was much harder to halt the elegance of shoving a thumb into someone's eye socket and fiddling about within. Technology gone and magic gone, Turnball was still threat.

Opal seemed quite impressed with the elf. As Artemis interrogated her, she constantly deferred to Root, asking him what he thought. There seemed to be no love lost due to the stolen opportunity at fratricide, Turnball always smiling at the questions. He responded to her as a college-aged boy would to his best friend's hero-worshiping little sister: amused attention, with a little flirting.

At the moment, Opal was somewhere else in their makeshift headquarters, undergoing questioning with the help of N°1's _mesmer_. That was the good thing about Koboi's human transformation: technically no longer a fairy, the LEP could use magic on her with impunity. There was a harried Council debate in progress to determine if Turnball could also be considered a non-fairy, given his long-term loss of magic. In the meantime, Fowl was throwing every question he could think of at the former captain.

"What is your favorite color?"

..._every_ question.

"Teal," Turnball said, "it's very pretty."

Artemis twitched at the insufficient words and the ease with which the elision could have been avoided for a full count of his blessed five. It was an odd interchange. Every line from Artemis seemed to sooth the genus, but Root would shatter him with a simple retort. His estimation of the elf was rising just as quickly as his ire.

"Did you do it, Turnball?"

"I'm not telling, boy." Turnball twisted his fingers about to play with the cuffs of his prison uniform, scowling as he tried to maneuver them into some shape that would add a bit of fashion to the plain orange synthetics. _Gods,_ how he missed lace.

Trouble stepped forward, taking the left side of Artemis, with Holly seated to match him on the right. The boy glanced up at the commander, but did not comment, leaving him to take a chance at speaking.

Trouble growled knowing that the rumble could send a good number of fairies under his command scurrying. "You should really give in. You're only making this harder."

Turnball snapped his head up, sweeping a gray fringe from his eyes. "Funny coincidence. I once told your mother the same thing."

Snarling, Trouble lunged forward, but wound up crashing into Holly's solid back. She looked over her shoulder, arms spread wide to keep him from bypassing her and going in for the kill. Fowl seemed startled, and was watching Kelp closely.

"You strike him," she said evenly, "and he has your badge. Then who takes your place? Vein? Me? He's not worth it, Trouble."

"Last I checked, no one even knows he's here." Trouble glared down at Root, who just rolled his eyes.

"Commander. Just sit down." After a moment and a little cough from Artemis, Holly sighed and said, "_Please_."

Thankfully, Trouble complied, sitting with his arms crossed, just a few degrees of curve in his lips away from a pout. It was dangerous to insult women the Kelps were attached to; especially whenever the Kelp boys were around. This was a fact that some of the more immature officers used to amuse themselves whenever the younger brother was about, making little comments about a certain princess of the LEP.

Holly took her seat again, laying a hand on Artemis's shoulder. A second later, before Fowl even reacted, she took her hand away, clasping it with the other and laying both on her lap.

Trouble watched Holly's hands. They were long and slender, the last joints almost seeming sharp. Vinyáya seemed to have had a big influence on the butch woman; she now sported long nails with white tips. Not anywhere near long enough to interfere with her shooting or fighting, of course. In fact, Trouble suspected they were actually a combat asset. Those kitten's claws had wounded him on more than one happy occasion.

Trouble coughed, stretching a leg to adjust himself before things became embarrassing. Holly's eyes flickered to him, then to Fowl, and back to her obsessive focus on her oldest enemy: Turnball. She knew to be wary of this one. He had nearly stolen her lovers magic and almost escaped his prison sentence due to her actions twelve years ago. He was just about as slippery as Diggums.

Unable to help himself, having nothing else to do, Trouble again focused on Holly's hands. That, he decided, was the major difference between "partners" in the work sense and "partners" in the romantic sense. Your hands. What they meant. What they could do. Not even sexually (well, not _only_ sexually). Just the little things. How he was allowed to kiss the back of her hand at the beginning of a date. Walking with their fingers twined as he led her through Haven. Placing a light touch to the small of her back as he escorted her to their table. Cupping her hands between his own as they talked, their bottle of sim-wine getting lower and lower as the throbbing line of electricity between them grew stronger and stronger. Resting them on Holly's hips as her mouth opened to his, sharing what might be the last kiss of the evening while desperately hoping she would wrap her fingers about his shirt as she backed into her apartment to continue the night. Then, laying with their legs and the blankets so tangled that they would be doomed if called upon to run for their lives, his fingers playing with the unruly bits of hair that brushed the nape of Holly's neck, her own hands tracing his collarbone and up his jugular to examine the etched edges of his jaw and the soft curve of lips, at which point he would nip at her, making the woman purr and thump her hand playfully on his chest.

Trouble blinked, shifting again, and berated himself, trying to get his mind back on track. They had been dating for only a few months, but the intimacy that had formed between them astonished the man. They had talked about forming a relationship a few times, early in the Academy, when there was no chance of them doing so without possibly being torn apart in the future, when they had to fight one another over promotions and perks. Now, though Trouble was right on top, and Holly only a few rungs below him, and already highly proven as an officer, with no need to ask her lover for tidbits. Free of constraints, they had begun, and were flung into the pairing so fast, so deeply, that it took Trouble by surprise, this all-or-nothing gamble.

Trouble grunted at his wandering mind. This really wasn't something he needed to think about, with Atlantis on the verge of destruction. Strategy. Action. Heroism. Those were the order of the day.

Despite this, Trouble again looked at Holly's hands.

They were unclasped, the fingers twitching, but she wasn't counting her words, not speaking herself, but listening. It was as if she ached to make a grab for something. Trouble felt his heart speed up at the sight, well aware that she was still armed with a neutrino.

When her hand moved, Trouble's legs tensed, ready to spring and return the favor of keeping a fellow officer from committing police brutality.

Her hand didn't move back towards her hip, though. It went forward, and a little to the left. Trouble followed the trajectory with his eyes even after her hand stopped and jerked back to clasp safely with the other. He completed the path until his eyes alighted on Fowl's spasmodically twitching fingers, which were desperately trying to keep up with a particularly long speech.

His eyes narrowed and Trouble brought his head back a fraction, hoping that distance would add perspective. Take Fowl's hand. Yes. The boy was on the verge of a breakdown, and any friend would want to give him comfort. Understandable. That sight would have been...irritating, but acceptable. But flinching back? Why?

Before it could all make sense, all heads turned to the door, tracking the sound of an insistent knock.

Trouble looked at Holly, jerking his head at the door. Even if he was only a few feet away, he didn't want to leave his lover in closer proximity to Root than he himself. The criminal was still restrained (with simple rope, due to the concerns with Koboi), but that meant little to Trouble. Snakes could slither out of anything.

With a brief scowl at his paranoia, Holly stood and crossed the room, opening the door to see a prancing centaur clapping his hands with almost flamboyant glee.

"_Major_ idea, Holly. I need Turnball for a few minutes. Bring him over to my workstation, will you?" He clasped his hands together like a begging schoolchild. Whatever he had in mind doubtless involved a new gadget he'd hoped to test out. Holly briefly wondered if this gadget was something that he couldn't exactly test legally, due to pesky moral issues. Foaly could be a bit of a mad scientist, in that way.

She nodded, despite her ethical misgivings. "I'll bring him right over. I think Fowl knows enough about his likes and dislikes."

"No, you will _not_, Captain," Trouble interjected, rising from his chair. "I'll take care of him."

"I can take care of myself," Holly said, eyes narrowing.

"Good," Trouble replied, swiftly working free the knotwork jungle on Root's arms, making the elf stand before more loops were made to restrain him for their journey to Foaly's temporary operation's booth. "You take care of yourself; I'll take care of him." He tugged on the end of the lead rope, making it tighten about Root's wrists. The elderly man grunted and rolled his eyes at the commander.

Trouble paused a moment at the door, glancing back at the pair he was leaving in the room. Holly had her arms crossed, looking all too endearing for her fury. She'd be having it out with him once this was over, Trouble was sure. He wasn't exactly saddened by this. Making up with Holly was one of the best parts about their relationship.

Behind her, Fowl seemed to be back to his recitation of pi. It eased the man, though he would twitch whenever the number four came up. The numbers came on fast, though, so it was more a minor tick. As if the human had also contracted a case of Tourette Syndrome, to flavor his veritable cocktail of neurosis.

Trouble opened his mouth to give a warning, but caught Holly's steely glare and bit the thoughts back. He knew she could take care of herself. He just...wanted to be sure.

With a brisk nod at the allies, he followed Foaly down the corridor, doing his best to keep from glancing behind himself with every step. He should have just brought them with him...gods, what in the world was he thinking...?

Ahead of him, Turnball laughed softly. "Oh, what fun..."

* * *

Artemis waited for the door to close before he spoke.

"How long?"

Halfway between her companion and the door, where she had bid Trouble a tense and threat-filled goodbye, Holly wrapped her arms even tighter across her chest and did not answer.

Artemis was not one to be deterred by the silent treatment. "How long have the two of you been together, Holly?"

She breathed in sharply, her voice razor-edged. "It's none of your business."

"Yes it damned well is!" Artemis stood, fists clenching. He briefly thought of that little movement. Clenched fists. Not his style, surely, but it felt good beyond belief, and he was sure the only thing that would feel better would be to sink his fists into something. Preferably something with a tri-acorn medallion.

He could not remember the last time he had felt this angry, if he had indeed felt so strongly about anything before. It straightened his posture from his previous burdened slouch, allowing him to move without stumbling everywhere as he approached Holly's unguarded back. "Tell me how long. _Now_."

"It's...just been a while," she replied, moving sideways, never turning to face him. She rubbed at her upper arms, as if chilled by his presence.

"How _long_ is 'a while'?" Artemis came across the line of her movement and turned to face the elf. He wanted to keep following. To catch up and grab her, to keep her from moving even further away from him, but even in his enraged and paranoid state, he was not yet far gone enough to rush after her. It would be a folly met with swift retribution.

"Just...a few months, okay!" She shrugged, trying to make the questions slough off like an ill-fitting coat.

"Before...or _after_ we kissed?" Artemis blinked hard at the word. _That_ word. That forbidden word. God, it felt so good to say it. To let it out in the open, where it was undeniable. Almost as good as the act itself.

Holly spun to face him, new fringe flying like an ember from a bonfire. "That does not matter, Artemis!"

"I think Trouble would disagree!" Artemis shot back, tallying a point on his end when Holly's eyes flashed with rage. It was so odd seeing his own eye overcome with the emotion. He never knew a fire could burn in such deep ice.

"After, okay! It started _after!_"

"Oh, good," Artemis sneered, taking another step forward, reveling as he towered over the elf, even if she failed to back away at his hostile posture. "Exactly how long?"

"That's _none_ of your business," she hissed back, advancing to him. It was her instincts that did it. Her logical mind would have told her to stay out of his striking range. Instead, she met his challenge with one of her own, feeling hot blood coursing through her veins, amplifying every sense. She could see each strand of his fine hair drift about with his breaths. Hear the stop-start thudding of his heart. Smell the fading coils of fear-scent in his clothes. Taste...nothing. Just herself. Thank the gods.

"I rather think it is," he rumbled, trying to stretch his body to greater height. He would have done better to attempt to gain some width to the chest, but physical standoffs were not his specialty, so he focused on the useless gestures.

"And you're not thinking straight," Holly retorted, not even bothering to match the height gambit. Instead, she let her voice turn to a tone she would have once thought could only come from Vinyáya herself.

"You can tell me, or I can ask the Commander. And that means telling him _what_ happened back in time." Artemis felt his heart swell. Twenty. Perfect. She could not escape the perfection of his argument.

"Four days!" Holly screamed, fists making harsh contact with her hips, as if she intended to take her frustrations out on her own body. "Four _fucking_ days!"

"It took you four days?" Artemis whispered, a muscle in his jaw twitching at the number. "I am impressed you _waited_."

"And what does that mean?"

He laughed, the sound somehow a mix of the old, cruel kidnapper child and this new, cracked man. "I assumed you'd done it the second you saw him, so you could not think about what's formed between us."

"What?" Holly sneered. "What's 'formed between us.'"

"This!" Artemis yelled, throwing logic and the number gods aside, grabbing Holly's upper arm as he fell to one knee, pulling her to his body and catching her completely with an arm about her waist.

It was so uncharacteristic, so unexpected, so _wrong_ that Holly did not react until she felt Artemis's lips over her own. And then she only gasped, the breath choking to a stop when she felt his tongue conquering her mouth with more speed and skill than she would have ever suspected. She felt small. Weak. She brought her hands up, grasping his collar, desperately needing something to hold onto.

* * *

"I thought perhaps taking my brother's job was a sign to the contrary," Turnball said, really wishing he could cross his legs to inspect his nails for that full super-villain effect, "but it appears my initial assessment of you on Tern Mór was correct. You _are_ simple-minded."

Trouble pushed Turnball's head back against the chair with a bit more force than was really necessary. "Oh? Really? Seeing as _you're_ the one in police custody, what makes you say that?" He shouldn't rise so easily to the bait—especially with Foaly clopping about, weaving among the tangle of wires that filled every bit of space but a three foot diameter in the middle of the room, where Turnball now sat—but he couldn't help but respond to the man that had nearly stripped him of his magic.

"Those two," Root said, jerking his head to the side. He winced as he was put back in place and a metal band was brought about his head, pinching his hair as it was secured, keeping him from further movement. "You are either an idiot or you enjoy passing your woman about like _h'orderves_."

Trouble pulled on the wrist straps, making them too tight, at first, only giving back the necessary slack when Root flexed his hand to relieve the discomfort. "Shut up, convict."

Foaly flipped his tail, looking between the Commander and Turnball. He ached to protect his valuable instruments.

"I thought you'd be more vigilant," Turnball murmured, eyes sparking behind the anti-_mesmer_ glasses. "I've heard a lot about you, from my guards. Quite lucky. Being chosen as my brother's second-in-command _just_ before he died."

"He was _murdered_," Trouble snarled, pushing suction cups onto Turnball's temples. "And I only wish your little lady-friend could be executed for what she did!"

"Let's not get off topic," Turnball chided, wriggling a finger at him. "_Your_ lady is the one that had all those delightful adventures with the human, is she not? That must rankle. I've heard you are quite prejudiced against the Mud Men."

"No more so than any other fairy," Trouble said. There was no use in denying it, really. Everyone had a problem with those world-killers. The only fairy that didn't resent all humans...well, she had her reasons, after all.

"I rather think not," Turnball crooned, lips curing into a smile that was far too small and delicate for sharing so many features with Julius. "I think you see humans as a blight. An infection. A _virus._ And who could blame you, really, with how they have destroyed out beautiful planet?" He tried to shrug, but was hindered by his restraints.

Foaly stopped flitting through the wires, halting so suddenly that he stood several moments with only two hooves on the ground, tail arching high as he stared ahead. "A...virus..."

Trouble ignored the centaur. "My politics have no impact on my job. I know how to follow protocol."

"Again, we are not discussing your job, Commander. We are discussing your lovely captain and that human boy. I find the eye thing most...disturbing." His upper lip curled, as if he had been presented with a dish of maggot-filled meat. "Don't you worry about it...influencing her?"

"Never," Trouble muttered, standing back from the prisoner.

"Taking over her _entire_ body..."

"Not a chance," he said, turning away.

"_Spreading_..." Turnball purred.

"Shut up," Trouble ordered, fist tightening.

"_Growing_ and going _deep _inside her until she just can't take it anymore and has to_ scream?"_

_"SHUT UP!"_ He rounded, still-clenched fist slamming backhanded into Turnball's mouth. The strike hurt, with Turnball's head unable to move, sending a jolt straight up Trouble's arm, but it was such a good hurt that he wanted to do it again and again, until his knuckles were coated in blood.

There was a long silence, during which Foaly took several steps back, mouth open, but not saying anything to either party. Striking prisoners that way broke more laws than he could tally on both hands, but a line had been crossed by the old criminal. Trouble had merely followed the man across that line.

Then Turnball began to laugh, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. "Gods, Commander," he sighed, peeling back his lips and spitting out a tooth, "I really had hoped my brother taught you to hit better than _that_."

Trouble took a step forward, desperately wanting to prove his mentor adequate, but Turnball's next words stopped him.

"Maybe I was wrong, though," Turnball said, tongue running over the still-bleeding cavity. "Maybe you can trust your captain completely. I mean," he laughed, licking the blood from his mouth and meeting Trouble's eyes, lips smacking in appreciation at his own taste, "you _did_ leave her _alone_ with him."

Trouble stepped back, shaking his head. "You...Foaly! Cameras!"

Foaly whinnied. "There's no camera in there! You know that!"

"D'arvit!" Trouble loped sideways towards the door, throwing orders back towards the technical consultant. "Don't do anything until I get back! Just keep him restrained!"

"Trouble, wait!" Foaly followed after, arm outstretched. "Holly would never—"

But his reassurances were lost as the elf sprinted down the halls, turning a corner and going out of sight.

* * *

Artemis was moaning into Holly's mouth, not even feigning self-control, as he would have done under more sane circumstances. Everything. Everything a thousand times better than he had ever imagined. Lips, hips, breasts, _Holly_, all so close, and he just wanted more. To feel her move against him, falling into the inevitable. Sweating and gasping and no way to tell where he stopped and she began. He wanted the perfection of their hands—twenty total fingers—twined together in a flawless weave.

He took his arms from about the elf, reaching to remove her hands from his lapels. They came away easily, and he spread his fingers for completion.

Wrenching her hands free with a gasp, Holly took a step back, using the shift in her center of gravity to bring her hand about, splayed fingers lashing across Artemis's cheek. The carefully maintained nails caught, leaving four oozing red lines, too shallow to bleed freely, but soon filling with small droplets of blood.

The man's head snapped to the side, and the elf took advantage of his shock, jumping away before he could grab her and violate her mouth again.

"How _dare_ you! You _bastard!_" She wanted to wipe at her mouth in an almost childish gesture, but she was more preoccupied with using it to scream. "How_dare_ you do that, after everything you've put me though! You know. You fucking _know_ I'm with Trouble! What are you _thinking_?"

Artemis couldn't seem to keep himself upright. It was as if the blow had put a hole in him, letting out everything that gave him strength and substance. The mental drain of the Atlantis Complex and the physical battering he had been taking all day combined, forcing him down to all fours in what was almost a bow to the infuriated fairy. He managed to lift his head to remain watching her, gasping for his meager breaths. He knew this feeling. The train-off-it's-tracks rush in his mind. A panic attack. Uncontrollable mental activity, so hot and fast that he longed for anything to bring about it's end. His heart felt like it was about to burst into flames, and his stomach seemed full of the strongest acid.

Still, he had to speak. She needed to _understand. _"You are only with the Commander to close off your opportunities. To stop yourself from considering another life." He smiled, hoping that look on her face was realization. "With me."

"That's a lie," Holly whispered, moving further away from her manipulative friend, edging towards the door. She tried to shut her mind down. It was imperative she did not think about what Artemis was saying. Because, if you listened to Artemis for long enough, he began to make sense, and he could _not_make sense when talking about this. Never.

"Don't try to fight this," Artemis breathed, eyes tracking her. On hands and knees, disheveled hair falling about his eyes, he did not resemble an unsurpassed genius, or even a criminal mastermind. He was a caged animal. The kind that must be put down, since not even the most beloved and vigilant of caretakers could tend to it without being mauled. "You know you felt something!"

Holly paused, her hand on the door handle, and thought carefully. Counted meticulously. Crated her response with the same precision that the Fowl wordsmith would have lauded for its simplicity and clarity.

"Yes," she whispered, never breaking the connection between their eyes as she began to push the door open. "I felt _ill_."

* * *

Trouble saw the door crack open, and relief flooded him. Nothing. He'd over-reacted. That damned traitor fairy had done what he did best, and manipulated other people into doing his own dirty work. But it didn't matter, because nothing had happened. Holly wasn't tainted (Of _course_ she wasn't! What a stupid, sexist idea!), and he would pull her into his arms in just a second and get that final reassurance that she belonged to him.

"Yes. I felt _ill._"

Holly stepped into the hall, and Trouble halted, staring at her as she caught sight of him and froze.

Her shirt was a bit rumpled. More than he would have expected from casual movements. More like she had moved swiftly, or been pressed against something. Her fringe of hair was a mess, mashed to her forehead. Her cheeks and the tips of her ears were tinged pink, and her breaths came shallowly.

And her lips...oh, gods, her lips were so fractionally changed, but Trouble had kissed her enough to see the minute swelling and redness of a forceful contact that even magic found too small to work on. It was the same sort of small bruising she left with whenever they found themselves having an ill-advised moment in one of the Plaza elevators.

The biggest difference being that, this time, he hadn't been the cause.

"What did he do?" Trouble rumbled, ready to sprint around Holly and face further charges of battery once she answered.

"He's just a little hysterical," Holly shrilled, then coughed so she could speak normally. "I just tried to knock some sense into him. I think it worked!"

"_What_ made you ill, Holly?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, she said running her fingers through her fringe, trying to get it back in order.

"He did something to you," Trouble said, circling so he did not approach his lover directly, but still made his way towards the door. "I intend to find out what, and if I have to hear it from him..."

Holly's eyes followed him as he approached the door, lids drooping with exhaustion. "He's sick, Trouble."

"I know," he said, grabbing the handle.

The call came bugling down the halls. "_I've got it!_"

The elves whipped their heads about, bodies tensing for possible combat, but relaxing immediately upon sight of Foaly galloping down the halls, kicking every few steps.

"I've got it, I've got it, _d'arvit_, it is so simple, I've got it!"

Behind them all, there came a tiny click and creak, and they again turned to see the door open a sliver. Artemis—his hair an ungodly mess, eyes suddenly bloodshot, as if he had taken a hit of a particularly strong drug or, more likely, finally lost the last of his adrenalin, approaching a physical crash of massive proportions—peeked out. He was leaning against the door frame, eyes—nearly lost within dark purple pouches—flashing between them. His voice was soft and smooth, however, with a light clip. "Well, it is about time."

"Hey, give me a break," Foaly said, only reaching the prescribed numerical values of his speech through happy coincidence. "I don't see you coming up with this. Although you weren't exactly aware when it happened..."

Artemis opened the door a fraction more, looking across at the centaur, but found his progress quickly hampered by the tensed arm of Trouble Kelp, which kept the door from swinging open completely.

Trouble stared at the four wounds on the human's cheek. His jaw tightened, and he could feel a fire spreading along his arms. Sick...so sick...

Artemis coughed and glanced away from the man, hiding his cheek. It was entirely unfair, her reflected, that a creature of only two-thirds his size would be so intimidating.

To ignore the awkwardness, he focused his attention on Foaly. "Not 'exactly aware?' Meaning I was _mesmered_ or under sedation?"

"Exactly!" Foaly's tail flipped high in the air. He was eager to show off, after having listened to Artemis's little speech up on the surface. _This_ was _really_something to brag about. He reached into one of the pouches strapped to his human waist, pulling out a thin plastic case. He flipped it between his hands, the reflective bottom of the small disk within catching the harsh lights of the hallway, the top moving far too quickly to be read. "Turnball was the one who said, it really." He grinned at Trouble. "Artemis doesn't have _just_ an illness.

"It's a _virus_."


	3. Corrupted

**Chapter 3: Corrupted**

"It is a charming analogy," Artemis agreed, crossing one leg over the other and laying his hands across his lap. He would have been the picture of calm, if he was not breathing at double the normal speed and pinching his thumb and forefinger together like he was trying to crush a particularly hearty flea. Whenever he spoke, the four lines across his cheek would crack open in a few places, making him twitch as a single drop of blood was released to reseal the wounds. "Though I find myself loath to put my intellect at risk to satisfy some...theory."

"It's not a theory," Foaly protested, poking at the case that lay on the table in the center of the group. Now that it was stationary, the label could be read quite clearly. _Artemis Fowl—March 3__rd__, 2004._

"It is entirely sound," the centaur went on. "The same principle the mind wipes run on."

"On a massive scale that has never been tested. Analogies can only go so far." Artemis gave the disk a mistrustful glance. "_And_ you're going backwards."

When Butler spoke, it made Artemis wince and lean away, having not overcome his worries about the man's bad luck, despite his presence bringing the meeting's attendance up to five. Holly wanted to whisper reassurances and lay a hand on the big man's forearm, but she held off, allowing him his dignity.

"Look, I've only been on the bad end of a mind wipe, and that wasn't a very educational experience. Mind explaining that all again, and in normal English...er, Gnommish, for the rest of us?"

Foaly sighed like a martyr, crossing his forelegs. "Very well. The mind wipe array and a lot of similar technology runs on the principle that the brain is just one very big, very complicated machine." Foaly reached over and picked the headset off the table.

Artemis flinched again and eyed the machine, as if it would grow teeth, leap from Foaly's hands, and begin gnawing on his head until his brain pan was laid bare.

"Mind wipes are just a very fancy way of 'deleting' data. As we all know, just like a computer, the delete isn't permanent. The data still exists, deep within memory, but can only be recovered with a lot of work."

"I'd like to point out," Trouble said, leaning back in his chair and crashing his booted feet to the table, earning a glare from Butler as the disk was jostled, "that computers don't make stuff up, like the mind does after a fine-tuned wipe."

"A very _smart_ computer would," Artemis pointed out, making Trouble show his teeth in a derisive smile. Coughing, he turned back to Foaly. "This is all very well, but it leaves us with two options: a blanket wipe—which will significantly reduce my intelligence—or a fine-tuned wipe—which will remove all knowledge I have of the People, making me even more useless." His fingers twitched for a moment, counting, and then settled.

"And that is where my _utter_ genius comes in," Foaly whinnied, back hooves clopping a sharp tattoo. "Let's just keep the idea that the mind is a computer in the background, and continue. So, what is wrong with Artemis's mind?"

"It's _sick_," Holly offered, earning a smile from Trouble, though she ignored him.

"_Exactly_," Foaly said, missing Artemis's offended reaction. "What kind of sicknesses can a human get?"

"Cancer," Trouble supplied.

"Bacterial infections," Butler offered. "Organ failure. Poisoning."

"Gods, you're such frail things, it's a wonder you've made it this far," Foaly snorted. "Think _smaller."_

"As you said," Artemis drawled, eyes rolling, "a virus. However, I must point out that I am suffering a malfunction of the brain, not a viral invasion, Mr. Foaly."

"There's not that big a difference, for computers. A virus in the medical sense is something that takes over a cell and forces it to reproduce the virus, eventually leading to the death of the cell. For a computer, a virus doesn't necessarily reproduce, but it does make the computer do something that it wouldn't do normally, keeping it from performing normal tasks, and usually damaging it in the process."

"So treating the Atlantis Complex as a computer virus means...?" Butler waved Foaly on, putting up with the centaurs muttering about human intelligence for the sake of his distressed master.

"Well, if we assume the Atlantis Complex is like a computer virus, and the mind is one infinitely complex computer, then it stands to reason that you would try to get rid of the Complex in the same ways that you try to get rid of a virus. So, to start with, you try to find the 'file' that is 'corrupting' everything and delete it. That is essentially what psychotherapy would do."

"But your doctors Argon and Cumulus are in Haven and can't be brought here in time to treat me, correct?" Artemis pinched the bridge of his nose, releasing some of his sinus tension. It appeared that sub-oceanic environs were not suitable to his thin facial features.

"Yes. So, what do you do if a virus can't be isolated? How do you make everything work again, just as smooth as before everything went wrong?"

Artemis had followed Foaly's conversation easily enough to this point when they first discussed the new breakthrough, but here was where he had come across an embarrassing stumbling point. Now, with a bit more time to think about the concepts, he felt things moving aside in his head, the answer coming out slowly, like a paleontologist brushing the dirt and years off a fossil. When it was finally clear, he leaned away from the disc, unable to take his eyes off it even as he wanted to escape it's influence. "Surely you don't mean...reformatting?"

"Exactly!" Foaly laughed, snatching the disc up and twirling it on his finger. "If the virus can't be removed on it's own, but the hardware is undamaged, you still have a good system. You just have to _wipe_ it clean and start from scratch!" Foaly cut his hand through the air, severing theoretical ties. "Simple!"

Holly and Butler both sat with their mouths wide open in horror.

It was Trouble who eventually spoke, brows lowered in confusion. "Wiping Fowl wont do us any good. He'll just be a burden. A shell. Like a clone, but with a lot more wear and tear."

"Commander," Foaly chuckled, shaking a finger at him, "let me finish. _This_ is the really _brilliant_ part. All good computer users know how important this safety measure is. It's annoying to do it regularly, but it will save you _hours_ of work and heartache."

"D'arvit," hissed Holly, "just _tell_ us already!"

Almost reverently, Foaly let his hand extend to Artemis.

After several seconds of hesitation, the man reached out, taking up the disc by it's edges, bringing it about to his face, the glare of the overhead lights catching on the reflective surface and sending bright spots over his pale skin. Eventually, he smiled, catching Foaly's mad scientist glee. "You should always make regular backups." He scowled, letting the disc fall from his line of sight. "And yet...how? _When?_"

"After the C Cube debacle, when I was wiping your memory, I made a copy. Purely for my own research, mind?" He laughed nervously, well aware how odd it sounded. Creepy, even. He had never intended to let Fowl in on that little project.

"After the C Cube incident?" Artemis again looked at the disc, now disapproving. "Foaly, I was _thirteen_ then. Do you have anything that is a bit more...recent?"

"Oh, yeah!" Foaly whinnied, smacking his forehead. "Yeah, I forgot. You came in last month and insisted I made a backup of your brain!" Foaly picked up a data tablet and began to tap it with the stylus. "Of your own free will." He tapped slower, locking eyes with Artemis. "Randomly." Even slower. "Even though you had never heard of the procedure before." He stopped tapping. "And then you forgot about it."

Wide-eyed and grinning, Artemis waved Foaly on. "Perhaps you hid it under 'vital documents' or 'research projects'?"

Foaly opened his mouth for another scathing remark, but instead sighed, shaking his head.

After a good fifteen seconds, Artemis frowned. "Oh. That was quite unkind."

Holly decided to speak up, now that the technical portion of the conversation was over, and tactics were being addressed. "Foaly, I don't see how a two year old scan is going to help us."

Foaly nodded. "Well, Fowl seems to have done something in the recent past that he regrets. That he feels truly guilty over." One hand cupped to his mouth, Foaly spoke to Holly in an aside that was completely ineffective, given that everyone was packed in so close. "To make _him_ feel guilty? Must have clubbed a baby seal or stolen his mum's knickers."

Butler looked horrified, though which accusation was the source remained unclear.

Holly looked at her hands, a flush rising up her cheeks. "He feels...guilty...about something he did recently?"

"As unbelievable as that idea is, yes." Foaly reached out and gingerly reclaimed the disc from Artemis, who remained staring ahead, caught in the horror of a maternal panty raid. Foaly patted the man's hand back to his lap and returned his attention to Holly. "Now, we don't know exactly what, and without knowing that, we can't remove the specific memory that caused it. So, instead of a 'virus scan,' we're going to have to do a complete 'reformat' on Artemis's brain," he twiddle the disk, "and 'upload' this to get our little scheming friend back."

"So he forgets everything from the mind wipe and on? Two whole years, just gone?" Butler frowned. Butler frowning was a very bad thing.

"Only temporarily," Foaly hastened. "Just like with his old mind wipe, the memories would still be there, under the surface. We'd wipe and reload, solve this crisis, and then go back to trigger his memories one-by-one. When we get to the thing that started off the Complex, we'll stop for treatment. It shouldn't take all that long, really. A week? Say he's on a skiing holiday or something."

"Artemis does not go skiing," Butler rumbled, still less than enthused.

"Snowboarding, then. _Whatever. _The point is, this _will_ get rid of the Atlantis Complex, make Fowl useful again, and is reversible. It's the perfect solution!"

"But it's the guilt that's the real problem," Holly pointed out. "If we had that, and we could remove it, then this complete mind wipe and reboot would be unnecessary?"

"Well, yes," Foaly said, shrugging noncommittally "Though what could be making Fowl feel _that_ guilty...I don't know."

"I think I do," Holly said. She could feel Trouble's eyes on her, so she instead looked at Butler. He had known, once, but that little misunderstanding with Nº1 had led to the big man forgetting her indiscretion at Rathdown Park. Would mentioning...the thing bring back that memory, and images of an older Artemis?

Well, Butler wasn't the one to worry about. He hadn't—gods, it made no sense!—contracted a fairy mental illness because of something she had done.

And, in the end, Holly knew the truth. The illness. Their predicament. Artemis's breakdown and attack on her person...it was her fault, in a way. Or their fault, if she was going to be fair to herself. Artemis had lied to her on far too many occasions to be counted. Habitually, really. But never before had she met his lie with a few seconds of impulsiveness and the closest physical connection the young man had yet experienced. If she hadn't been so damned relieved that he was alive and done...that...

She breathed in, preparing herself. "Back at Rathdown Park—"

"I'll do it," Artemis said flatly.

Trouble barely flicked his eyes from Holly, though her entire head had turned to watch her human friend. "What happened at Rathdown Park, Captain?"

Holly hesitated. "I—"

"I will undergo the wipe and reload," Artemis broke in again. He stood, sweeping a hand back through his hair in an attempt to reorganize the mass. "As soon as possible, of course. Foaly, I trust you can be ready in...oh...three minutes' time?"

"Two-and-a-half," Foaly puffed, thriving on the nerdish thrill of experimentation.

"You _know_ this will work?"

"You mind will either go back two years or become a mindless husk that can only keep up respiration and a heartbeat!" After a grin and an extended, silent pause, he jumped forward. "But I'm betting on the former!"

"Yes, quite." Artemis squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head. "Get everything ready, if you will. In the meantime, Captain Short, I must speak with you in private."

"Wait one second," Trouble snapped, reaching his arm out to cross over Holly's chest. "Why do you need to speak to her?" He almost said 'my mate,' but caught himself in time. If anything was bound to irritate the Recon officer, it would be being claimed.

"It is vital to our mission," Artemis replied coolly. When this did not make the commander immediately relax, he shook his head, smiling painfully. "Just for those three minutes. I am willing to be observed by a closed circuit television, though I must insist there be no sound, if that is more acceptable?"

Trouble was about to shout that even that was out of the question, but stopped himself. Holly was glaring at them both. Bringing his arm back into his body, the elf coughed into his hand, hoping the move was a sufficient excuse for retracting the protection. "Yes, well...ahem. I suppose three minutes is...fine." He blanked out his face. "No cameras. Ridiculous." Especially with just three minutes to work on. Nothing truly important could happen in three minutes. Unless Fowl had some _serious_ sexual inadequacies.

"Excellent. Captain Short," Artemis said, taking to his feet and sweeping his hand towards the door. "The hallway shall be private enough, if you don't mind joining me?"

Holly cursed herself when she glanced at Trouble. She had honestly expected him to have another miniature rampage against the idea of her being left alone with Fowl. Instead, he turned to Foaly, asking the centaur if he could do anything to get the equipment ready.

"I...sure." She rose and shoved her hands in her pockets, following after her young friend. She involuntarily smiled when he had to duck his head to avoid smashing it against the top of the doorway. He had grown up...

Then Holly tore the smile away, taking several steps backwards down the hall as the door closed, isolating the human and elf. The click of the mechanisms sliding into place was obscenely loud in the empty corridor, echoing several times before becoming lost to Holly's attuned ears.

"Don't do this, Artemis." Holly looked to the white-painted wall, looking for a pattern in the minute cracks, letting her eyes lose focus to gain a new view on the random splinters. "Foaly already knows that something happened. We'll tell him what to wipe and bring that back later, like he said."

"Holly..." Artemis sighed, shaking his head. He licked his lips and also looked at the wall, though he seemed less focused on what images were hidden within. "Don't let me remember."

Holly scowled, turning her head back to study the man's impassive face. She thought she had learned him, by now, but the mystery of Fowl's mind was back in place, keeping her at bay. "I...Artemis, I don't understand."

He smiled, and it was tragically small. There was the faintest sheen on his eyes, but whether that was a normal reflection from the hall lights or something more, Holly could not tell. "What we shared...that memory is...my fondest." He looked at her, laughing briefly. "And my worst. Cruel and kind. Blessing and curse. I hurt you so deeply, and for that I can't forgive myself, but it felt..." He sighed, fingers curling together, as if he longed to grasp that ephemeral moment. "And I can't be allowed to remember it."

It came back again. That insane urge to step forward and cradle Artemis's face, smooth back his hair, comfort him until this moment of madness passed. Yet Holly resisted. It was the calmest she had seen Artemis since they met in the Arctic, and she had to wonder if this was some sort of bi-polar swing, somewhere between manic and depressed, ready to move onto either extreme with a single prompt. "You can't just forget...that."

"Oh...yes, I can." Artemis smiled, reaching out his hand to the elf. "With your help. No one knows but the two of us. It was...our secret, correct?" When Holly did not respond, he nodded for her. "One can keep a secret...far better than two. When the time comes, and you are bringing my memories back..."

Holly felt something odd happen to her breathing, and it took her a moment to realize it was a sob. "D...don't tell you we..."

Artemis held up his hand. When he was confident his companion had stopped, he again nodded. "It is...the kindest thing you can do for me. To remember...what I lost..." He shook his head, letting his hand fall. "Be happy with Trouble. He cares for you, deeply. So stay with him." He chuckled. "'Be well,' as Julius would say. And do me this last favor, Holly. Please...let me forget."

In a perfect world, it would have never happened. Holly would have never had to look her best friend in the eyes as he begged her to forget about the most important moment of his life. She never would have run out of reasons why she wouldn't do it. She never would have opened her mouth for one last chance, one last ineffective whisper that this wasn't _right_ and he couldn't just _forget_ what happened, and she...didn't...she didn't _want_ him to forget!

And, in a moment of impulsiveness, Holly found herself moving forward and reaching out, arms stretching to their limits, thin fingers brushing along Artemis's jaw until she cupped his face in her hands, looking deep into his eyes. It was so far off from her own center, but she could feel Artemis's heartbeat, and wanted, for a moment, to control her own until they beat as one.

She didn't even think about her magic, but it came anyway, trickling out of her hands and across Artemis's wounded face, washing away the scratches. He leaned his cheek into her hand. For him, it was a clearer sign than any words she could have spoken, and he seemed to calm.

"Artemis...does it all really have to be this way?"

He nodded, reaching up to cover her hand with his own, squeezing, smiling.

And, in a perfect world, this would have been the moment when Holly pulled him down to her and told him she refused and gave back his earlier kiss with all the same need and passion, and so much more.

But, in a perfect world, clocks had stopped, and three minutes took forever. In the real world, they ticked far too fast, and there came a knock at the door. It creaked open slowly, as if giving the pair time to compose themselves, and Butler looked out through the crack, the big man so absurdly disproportionate to the portal that one had to wonder how he had ever managed to get through it in the first place.

"We are almost ready in here. Are you all done?"

Artemis looked at Holly, remaining silent.

"I...we..." She slowly took her hands away, crossing her arms protectively over her chest, and nodded "Yes. We're done."

"Good," Butler nodded, opening the door fully, stepping back to allow his charge and comrade-in-arms through.

"Just a tick!" Foaly brayed, picking some equipment off the cushioned seat of the mind wipe array. "Two shakes of a gnome's bum, aaaaaaand..." He tapped sharply at the keyboard. "Yes! It's perfect!" He turned to Artemis, beaming. "Ready to be a guinea pig?"

"No," Artemis admitted, laying his hand on the array, inspecting the wires critically. "'A mindless husk,' I believe you said? The chances?"

Foaly blew air from his nose in a horsey snort, rubbing one of his horns. "Chances? I don't know. Hard to tell, first time and all. I'd say...ten percent failure rate."

"Ten percent" Artemis thought, then smiled, nodding. "Multiple of five." With that encouraging idea, he took his seat, arms laid out on the rests, regal as any king. "I would like to begin."

By this time, Holly and Trouble had come to stand wordlessly at each other's side, with Trouble briefly laying a hand on his lover's shoulder. Much as he loathed Fowl, he would not begrudge his own lady comfort.

He was not completely distracted by events, however, and it was Trouble that surprised everyone by pointing out the obvious. "Their eyes."

Holly frowned. "Eyes?"

Foaly took a hissing breath, pawing at the ground. "Yeah..."

With the centaur unwilling to elaborate, Trouble went on. "They're a dead giveaway. If Fowl takes one look at you, or in a mirror, it will begin triggering memories."

Holly reached up, laying light fingers on the lid of her switched eye. "Oh..."

"I'm already on that," Foaly reassured, taking a box about the size of a man's shaving kit from a crowded desk. "A bit drastic, but...this entire thing is drastic, isn't it?" He flipped off the lid, revealing a syringe, a vial containing a thick blue liquid, and a vibra-knife.

Artemis swallowed. "I can wear an eye patch for the duration, really."

Noticing that he was looking quite fixedly at the knife, Foaly whinnied, flipping the box about so only the syringe was on Artemis's side. "Not _that_ drastic. It's painless, really. Or at least you wont feel it, since you'll be asleep when I do the tinting."

Artemis looked at the color again, pupils going back to normal size as he realized he would be keeping them both. He relaxed visibly. Until his gaze was again drawn back to the knife, so bright and still in the artificial lights of the operations room. "And that is for...what?"

Looking a bit embarrassed, Foaly held up his hand, wriggling his ring and middle finger.

Artemis glanced down at this own switched digits. "Ah...that...does make sense."

"Just two quick cuts, and a switch, then healing. It'll take all of fifteen seconds."

"While I sleep, I gather."

Foaly laughed. "Well, duh! Can't have you flailing your stumps about, getting blood on my equipment!"

Artemis greened. Gathering himself, he turned his head towards Holly and Trouble. After a moment's consideration, he refocused to the taller elf and cleared his throat. "I...trust you have the magic to perform the procedure?"

After a pause, during which Trouble's brows lowered in confusion, followed by shooting up in understanding, the commander nodded. "Yes. I performed the Ritual at the last full moon. I'll go quickly. You have my word."

Next to him, Holly gave a little shudder at having escaped the need to maul her friend. Yet also a little shiver of apprehension for giving over the task to his rival, even if the battle had been conceded.

"I trust that you will." Again, Artemis paused, as if in deep meditation. The fairies all shifted nervously, knowing time was of the essence, but they allowed him to center. Before long, he brought his head back, neck stretching as if he prepared to accept a blade and oblivion. "I am ready to return things to as they were."

It was quick. Oh so quick. Artemis succumbed to the sedatives without a fuss, and Foaly inserted the needle into Artemis's iris at several points in under five seconds, motioning the commander forwarded to heal the minor damage with a single bolt of magic. Then Trouble took the vibra-knife and—under Butler's tense supervision, with Holly looking on and biting her fist—slid through skin, muscle, and bone in one jerk, switching the fingers and healing them even before Artemis's blood soaked through the towel they used to capture the flow. The scars were also removed, and Holly found herself clutching her trigger finger, as if she would be asked to copy the procedure. She escaped tinting when Foaly gave her a hazel contact, though it felt odd to have one eye filled. She found she had to blink constantly to work back the tears. Constantly.

It wouldn't be necessary to wear it for long, though. Very soon, she could tell him all about demons and switching eyes and everything

...almost everything.

The wipe was swift, as well. The mental equivalent of an electromagnetic pulse. Loading took longer, but Foaly whistled only a few seconds in, nimble centaur fingers tracing the readouts. "Taking in faster than I thought. Either my calculations were off or the Mud Man is processing at triple speed. Which makes sense for him. It'll be...five minutes."

And even the five minutes went fast. Holly watched the steady rise and fall of Artemis's chest and the twitching of his fingers and eyes under their lids as he went through something analogous to REM sleep. His mind consolidated all of the information like a puzzle master idly solving a Rubik's Cube. Or it appeared to do so. Holly tried to remember if clones dreamed.

When a ping signaling upload completion chimed, Holly laughed hysterically for a second. It had the same sound as her kitchen timer. Bing, cookies are done! She remained seated across from Artemis, Trouble on her left, Butler to her right, as Foaly removed the various wires and suction cups, swabbing away the gels and sedatives. He took a small vial from the supplies and wafted it under the human's nose. A somewhat high-tech equivalent to smelling salts, the nanites inside would take a few seconds to locate and devour the last of the drugs.

A few seconds. So few. And, as the seconds counted up, Holly let her fingers dig into her palms, heart slowing, racing, skipping, stopping. So many seconds. Too long. Too late.

With a sigh that seemed so innocent, so child-like, Artemis's eyelids parted a fraction. Then a fraction more. Then he yawned, scowling as he forced his mouth closed mid-exhale to regain his dignified appearance. If his arms were not clamped down, Holly imagined he would have coughed into his fist or straightened his tie. Instead, he let his ice-blue eyes rove over the silent, expectant gathering.

Artemis smirked. "You need me again?"

He froze, mouth open in surprise.

Ice filled Holly's veins. Four. He remembered four. It had failed. Artemis had lost two years of memories—_the _memory—and he still had the Atlantis Complex. They were doomed, and she could probably never convince him about Rathdown park before it was all over.

The man sighed, rolling his eyes. "Really, was it _too_ much to ask for to have my memories returned _before_ puberty set in? This new voice is quite disconcerting."

Holly flushed. She had grown so used to Artemis's voice. It had changed over a year ago, while they conversed on her freelance cases. Of course Artemis noticed the change! It was _his_ voice. His self. His body, so changed by the rush of hormones, turning him from an annoying boy to an emerging man, all while she watched and never really noticed. "I...am sorry. We were doing...well. On our own."

Sighing, Artemis twisted his wrists, fingers reaching as he tried to free himself.

Foaly, horse flanks twitching with excitement, darted forward, freeing Artemis by pushing a few buttons.

Artemis gave the centaur a nod before returning his attention to Holly, rubbing at his wrists to get back circulation. "Well, better late than never, I supposed. I always knew I would be needed again. After all," he flashed his teeth in that particular Fowl way, "you couldn't do without me."

Holly gasped softly, hands flying to her mouth, and Artemis studied her closely, an eyebrow raised.

"Is everything all right, Captain?"

"Yes," Holly whispered. Then she repeated herself, clearer and with a little laugh. "Yes, I suppose I...we can't."

"I'm glad to hear you admit that. Now," fully free, the tingling in his limbs disappearing, Artemis stood and strode forward.

Holly leaned back as he approached, glad she was sitting, as her knees were so terribly weak. He was very tall when he stood straight, unburdened by their shared mistakes. He could probably lift her, as normally weak as he was. So easily. So naturally.

"Well, then," Artemis said, stopping before Butler. "To work? I appear to have lost much time waiting to be reminded about everything. I assume you are in the loop?" The man tended to his suit, frowning at the damage, doing the best he could to regain a sense of fashion, despite the scorch marks. "Good God, what have I been doing?"

Butler remained still for only a moment before getting to his feet. The moment seemed too much for the big man, but he merely lay a massive hand on Artemis's shoulder and squeezed. "Yes, I'm ready, Master Artemis. Shall I debrief you?"

"While Holly's wits remain absent, that strikes me as best. Foaly, if you could lead us while we talk?"

Muttering about pack animal duties, even while he grinned like a loon every time he glanced at his test subject, Foaly led the pair from his temporary headquarters and towards the prisoner's rooms.

Holly watched them go, a trickle of tension escaping, easing her body. Artemis Fowl II was back, working on all his multiple mental levels. Soon, he would again be the hero of the day, and a tentative ally. Maybe something of a friend.

Trouble watched her. She was silent, so he remained so, as well. He could not deny being a proud man. A jealous man, even. It came with the tendencies of Retrieval officers. They were drilled every day on protecting the entirety of Haven, and it resulted in a strong desire to guard anything they claimed. It was common for Retrieval officers to die in service to the People. The law of averages and a single-minded focus on their duties almost guaranteed it. And, if they didn't die, most found themselves with an odd dichotomy in their romantic lives: long periods of abandonment, followed by an almost obsessive need to tend to their mates. More than one of Trouble's comrades had gone through a divorce, and a few had a good half-dozen under their belts by the time retirement began looming. It was one reason dating within the LEP wasn't forbidden: fairies needed a partner that could understand their life and put up with it for over a millennium.

Trouble knew he didn't really understand Holly's life. Not since the Mud Boy turned her world inside-out. After all, she had traveled through time, for Frond's sake! Twice! So he couldn't allow himself to think he was her perfect, completely understanding match. No one was.

In the end, it was just that he was the _best_ match. Fowl could never understand a fairy's life, much less a life on the right side of the law. Their worlds were too different. They could never be shared. Trouble knew it deep in his gut. _He_ was the best match.

And, the simplest reason of all for being with Holly: he _wanted_ her. Despite her divided loyalties and hidden histories, Trouble wanted her with all his heart.

So, after a few minutes, he lay a gentle hand on Holly's shoulder, letting his thumb press into one tight muscle, banishing its tension.

Holly took in a sharp breath, finally turning to her lover. "Trouble! I...was just thinking."

"About Artemis," Trouble stated.

"No! I—"

"It's okay, Holly," Trouble smiled, squaring his shoulders. "He looks a lot better, now. I think he'll be able to solve this case in a moment, and then we can get back to restoring his memories." He tried to laugh, hoping she didn't catch the squeak in the middle. "You'll get your friend back. Just like he was before."

"No," Holly whispered. "I said I...wouldn't...oh, Trouble!" She turned, hiding her head in Trouble's chest, almost sliding across the chairs to sit in his lap, wrapping her arms about his neck to hold him close.

Trouble had seen Holly cry only once, during Julius's funeral. For an elf—especially a female—this was an almost unbelievably small number of times. So, seeing her again past the brink, shaking silently at something even Trouble could not fool himself into thinking was joy over their coming escape, wetness seeping into his shirt, he did the best he could. He put one arm about her waist, keeping her tight against him, and trailed the other up and down her back, as if easing the tears up and out of her chest. He rested his chin on her head, pulling Holly deeper into his shield, keeping her from the world, and he stayed silent. No shushing, no encouragement, no commiseration. She would work through her emotions eventually.

He was the best man for Holly Short. That was all there was to it.

There was just that little voice in the back of his head, questioning him in smooth, educated tones that were all too familiar: Since when did Holly Short want what was best for her?

Trouble shut his eyes, urging the voice away and an upwelling of tears back down. Sometimes, there were things best left unsaid.

**The end**


End file.
